


In a Perfect World

by vividpast



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Death, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Italian translation available, Just Read It If You're Curious, M/M, Not Really Ambigous Ending, Translation Available, maybe character death, or not?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-03
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-16 04:13:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3474002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vividpast/pseuds/vividpast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this comic: http://catofcream.tumblr.com/post/112148052639/yeah-now-its-all-right-who-asked-for-this-now</p><p>Thorin holds Bilbo over the edge of the parapets.</p><p>Excerpt:<br/>Its emerald eyes stare imploringly into his. It just makes him angrier and he squeezed. The burglar releases barely a breath. (If not for his anger, he would have noticed that it releases not a breath more)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Perfect World

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING/S: Character death . . . or not. Yes? No? Find out for yourselves.
> 
> A/N: Oh my god, this is so messy. And also messed up. Gah! I’m taking a break from TH: ASJ ‘cause I want to write something angsty (as if TH: ASJ isn’t angsty enough).
> 
> Anyway, this is based on a comic of catofcream . tumblr . com. Check out their bagginshield art! It’s so cute!
> 
> ADDITIONAL NOTE: If you’re having a good day, don’t read beyond the line breaker with many dots after it. . . But meh, it’s not really that sad so might as well read if you’re really that curious.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: Of course, I own The Ho--*the ghost of 100+-year-old genius linguist professor shows up* GAH! I don’t own The Hobbit! At all. Take it, Tolkien!
> 
> EDIT: Italian translation is now available [here](http://www.efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=3121674) thanks to [KuroCyou](http://archiveofourown.org/users/KuroCyou/pseuds/KuroCyou)

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

_Traitor, traitor, traitor_

The word pounds in his head like drums to an execution. Rage boils in the blood under his skin, heartbeat hammering madly in his chest. His vision bleeds red, narrowing down to the deceitful soft, curly-haired, undersized _scum_. Cold strong fingers find purchase around the thin ( _weak, fragile_ ) neck.

How dare it? How dare this miserable little creature steal what is most precious to him? To think he trusted it, treated it as kin! He has never been so wrong in all his life.

“Tho—“ The _rat_ chokes off as he lifts it up in the air.

Without hesitation, he drags it towards the end of the parapet. Soft weak fingers attempt to remove his hold, struggling pathetically ( _so, so weak compared to dwarven strength_ ). In reply, Thorin’s grip tightened cruelly and without remorse around the _scoundrel’s_ neck. It gurgles, breath hitching, and its fingers starts scratching at his hands. He feels vindictive at the weak struggle.

A pulse beats strongly under his fingers ( _so warm and alive_ ), and breathes are hindered by his hand around its throat.

Thorin holds the traitor over the edge, threatening to throw him to the rocks. He spats insults and profanities at the whole of its being. The Arkenstone is his! All the gold is his! He will make this creature pay for what he’s done.

Its face contorts into one of pain, mouth parted and eyes wide with fear. Thorin would have smirked if not for the uncontained anger coursing in his veins. ( _If not for his fury, he would have noticed how its lips are starting to turn blue_ )

“Tho—in, ple—se.” Two hands encircles Thorin’s, trying to dislodge his grasp once again. He did not relent.

Its emerald eyes stare imploringly into his. It just makes him angrier and he _squeezed._ The _burglar_ releases barely a breath. ( _If not for his anger, he would have noticed that it releases not a breath more_ )

He hears cries—not from the _betrayer_ ( _Why would he betray me?_ ) but from his kin behind him. But his cruel sight and malicious attention are solely for this _thief._ The struggles from the creature ceases entirely, hands loosening around his until they fall limp on its sides. Perhaps it has resigned itself to its fate for Thorin _will_ throw the blasted _traitor_ down the abyss ( _won’t he?_ ). Perhaps it would think twice before it betrays his trust.

Its eyes are no longer wide with fright; instead they are half-lidded, unblinking as they stare at Thorin.

The King Under the Mountain roughly shakes the being in his grasp, voice now hoarse from all his shouting. The _swine_ does or says nothing in reply, just looking unfocusedly ahead.

Thorin pauses, mind clearing slightly. He frowns at the other’s silence. Does the _sneak_ think that playing brave would get it out of this situation? What manner of game is it playing?

His grip tightened once more to provoke a response. But he realized his grasp is as tight as it could be. For a surreal moment, he wonders how the _thief_ could even breathe.

The answer dawns to him like a bucket of ice-cold water. The veil in his mind lifts as sudden as an incoming cart rolling down the hill; it is like he has been taken out of a dream and has woken into a nightmare.

No pulse beats under his fingers, not even a faint one, and its gaze is glassy with death.

“No,” came unbidden from his mouth.

In one swift move, he has the hobbit out of the edge, down on the ground, and into his arms.

“Bilbo?” He brushes away the curls around the hobbit’s face. The eyes don’t change their life lifeless stare. “No, no, no.”

He sees the black bruises marring the hobbit’s neck, finger-shapes stark against the paleness of his skin. A tear slides down to the hobbit’s cheek, mouth parted in a final silent scream.

Bile rises to Thorin’s throat, frame wracked with guilt and regret. Denial engulfs his thinking as he throws all rational thought away. ( _No, this isn’t supposed to happen. He didn’t die, he didn’t, I didn’t, please, Mahal, no_ )

Thorin listens for a breath, fervently hoping for one. He listens for a heartbeat, placing his hand flat on the hobbit’s chest. He hears neither.

He doesn’t give up.

“Oin!” He whips his head around but finds no one around the battlements. Silence and stillness reign like death itself has taken over the place. Thorin shakes his head and calls, “Gandalf! _Tharkun_! Your burglar—“ He cuts off as he realizes no one, not even the army of elves and men are down below. No help is coming.

He sobs on Bilbo’s chest, losing all hope. “ _Ghivashel_ , I’m—I’m s-sorry. P-Please, please, don’t—”

“Thorin.”

Bilbo’s voice snaps him out of his grief. He instantly pulls back, joy singing in his chest. “Bil—“

But no, the hobbit’s head lolls back like a doll with its strings cut. His chest is as unmoving. Sorrow slams back to him like an executioner’s axe, fierce and unmerciful. He has been hearing things.

“Thorin.”

Bilbo’s mouth doesn’t move but Thorin knows in his heart that the voice belongs to him. Perhaps the hobbit’s ghost has come to haunt him for what he has done. Thorin closes his eyes tight, tears flowing freely beneath his lids.

“Thorin.”

Of course, it is no less than he deserved; Bilbo should punish him as he see fit. Thorin has stolen him away from his comfortable home, insulted him for faults he did not possess, and now, robbed him of his life. ( _It is no less than he deserved, Thorin would gladly atone for his sins_ ).

“Thorin!”

He jerks awake.

Thorin opens his eyes, wet with tears, to meet with the beautiful sight of Bilbo’s concerned face. He gathers the hobbit in his arms, breathing in his scent, relishing in his warmth, and comforting himself with his love’s beating heart.

“Thorin?” Bilbo inquires, wrapping his arms around the king in turn.

“I’m s-sorry. Just . . . for a while.” He attempts to get the words out and fail spectacularly. There is a tremble in his voice and hands that he couldn’t disperse. Bilbo seems to understand nonetheless for he just nods.

A comforting silence settles between them for several minutes. The only sounds in the chamber are Thorin’s labored breathing and Bilbo’s calming one.

When Thorin’s shivers have subsided and his breathes comes with ease, Bilbo speaks, “Bad dream?”

Thorin gives a jerky nod, still unable to speak.

“Do you want to talk about it?” was Bilbo’s measured question. “It helps sometimes.”

Thorin hesitates. He thinks back to the slack features of his beloved, to the unblinking leafy eyes glazed with death, to the blue of his love’s lips, and to the lack of heartbeat beneath his fingertips. He remembers each detail vividly. “No. I do not want to relive it.” It is all he could do to prevent his voice from breaking.

“Alright,” Bilbo replies. After a beat, he says, “Did you know that Fili and Kili were the ones who hid you’re your crown this morning?”

It startles a laugh out of Thorin. “Aye. They are not exactly subtle.”

He feels the hobbit’s smile on your chest. “Yes. They are confident they could get away with it though.”

“Perhaps another training spar with Dwalin is in order,” Thorin muses.

Bilbo chuckles, chest rumbling. Thorin is suddenly filled with warmth and love for the being in his arms.

And the night goes on with them chatting about nonsensical things . . .

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

And the blissful contentment would have went on if not for the ear-piercing scream that shatters the peacefulness.

Thorin opens the eyes he doesn’t remember closing. Instinctively, he clutches Bilbo closer to his chest. The hobbit let him, releasing not a sound nor putting up a struggle. Thorin glances frantically for a threat, hand reaching for the knife in the drawer beside the bed. Only, there is no drawer. Nor a bed.

Thorin blinks at the army of elves and men laying siege below the mountain. He stares uncomprehendingly at the barriers of the battlements.

_What?_

“No!” Kili’s shout has him whipping behind him.

The Company stands, eyes wide with shock. Some are shaking, mouth agape and unable to find the words. Kili, tears running down his cheeks, is being held back by Dwalin and Fili. Their faces are marred with grief and sorrow. Their gazes are not meeting Thorin’s; instead, they are slightly below.

Something screams desperately at Thorin not to look down, not to follow their gazes. But a larger part of him is confused and wants answers. Hadn’t been with Bilbo in bed not a while ago?

And so, he turns his eyes down.

Bilbo’s cooling corpse is a heavy weight in his hands. A tight rope constricts Thorin’s chest at the sight.

“What?” he breathes out. Broad fingers comes to both hobbit’s cheeks. The only warmth that could be found is on the tear sliding from those lifeless gaze. “No.” Bilbo had been alive, a breathing furnace full of smiles and love beside him. He had been talking to Thorin, teasing playfully on their bed.

“ ** _Thorin Oakenshield!_** ” Gandalf roars, fury and distress mixed in two words. The clouds thunder above, frighteningly close to the mountain.

Thorin cares not for the wizard’s anger. “Save him!” he demands, desperately. “I shall accept whatever punishment you give me. Just save him!”

“You foolish dwarf!” Gandalf’s rage does not appear to abate in the wake of Thorin’s pleads. However, after a moment, the wizard’s face crumples with anguish. “You foolish mad dwarf,” he whispers, closing his eyes in pain. “Not even I can bring back the dead.”

The declaration turns Thorin’s blood to ice.

“Thorin!”

The dwarf gasps, shaking all over. He registers the warm duvet underneath his skin, the sheets pooling around his waist, and a heavy warm weight in his chest.

“Oh dear, it’s alright, it’s alright,” a soft soothing voice whispers near his ears. Steady soft hands rub his trembling arms and shoulders. “It was just a dream, a dream, love.”

Thorin attempts to dispel the sordid images from his mind. _Just a dream,_ he tells himself ( _was it just a dream?_ ). Eventually, Thorin’s breaths even out. His arm comes up to engulf his hobbit in another tight embrace.

“You should go see Oin,” Bilbo says in the quietness. “He might have a remedy for your nightmares.”

“I am fine.” Thorin replies adamantly. His fingers goes through Bilbo’s soft blonde curls. “I have all the remedy I need right here.”

Thorin knows Bilbo enough to know the hobbit is rolling his eyes. “Oh, give me a second to swoon at Your Highness’ romantic words.”

Thorin laughs. “’Tis true.” He breathes in the scent of flowers, nectar, sweet, and apples on Bilbo’s hair.

The hobbit pulls back, supporting himself on his elbows on Thorin’s sides. His button nose bumps Thorin’s. Their breaths mingle between them. “You’ll talk to me though? If they start getting worse?”

“Of course, _Ghivashel_ ,” Thorin murmurs, closing his eyes pulling Bilbo’s head down to bump their foreheads. Bilbo has always thought forehead bumps are more intimate than kissing, and likes it all the more.

Suddenly, it is Thorin who is leaning down and the warm weight of Bilbo is gone. He still smells flowers—more evident than before even. But all he feels is his own breath.

Thorin’s eyes fly open as he straightens. Bilbo lays in a coffin made of gold and silver, eyes closed and fingers wrapped around a bouquet of lilies _(his favorite_ ). Fresh flowers of various kinds are spread out around his body, like an offer to the gods. The sunlight casts his skin in a pale pallor and his hair in a lifeless golden way.

He is dressed in a lavish waistcoat and trousers sewn by Dori. The collar of his red overcoat is up, covering the bruises around his neck that they couldn’t completely remove.

Harps, drums and flutes play a sorrowful tune in the background. Sniffles and sobs fill the heavy-laden air.

Thorin puts a fist in his mouth to stifle a cry. This isn’t a dream; he feels the grief too keenly for it to be a dream. Oh, how he wishes the blissful promise of the other is his reality.

As it is, Thorin glances over two more coffins, each containing his sister-sons.

He cries until his voice is hoarse and his eyes are red-rimmed.

“Uncle!”

Thorin straightens up in his chair, shaking off the last of the images from his nightmare. Documents are laid out on the table, and Thorin reads the large sums of gold needed to rebuild the east wing of the mountain. He rubs his face, dispelling the last of sleep from his being. Fili’s concern gaze travels down to his weary face.

“Perhaps you should rest, Uncle,” Kili voices out, brows furrowed. “You have been working non-stop for days.”

No, this is reality, Thorin is sure of it. His sister-sons are alive. Bilbo is alive. Everyone is hale and the mountain is reclaimed.

“Perhaps,” Thorin conceded grudgingly. He will not admit that part of him refuses to sleep because he fears the content of his dreams.

“Kee and I can take care of these.” Fili removes the papers from his grasp.

“You should really delegate the work sometimes,” Kili says, helping Thorin to get to his feet.

Thorin cocks a brow. “Are you not the one who complains about the workload?”

Kili pouts. “I jest, of course. I love reading grain reports and complaints of the council about the low taxes.” Kili says the latter with forced cheer.

“Then I leave them in your capable hands,” Thorin deadpans.

“Not always, though?” Kili turns to his brother, horror written on his face. “Did I just get assigned to an indefinite number of grain reports and complaints of old farts?”

Thorin and Fili laughs as one. Fili claps a hand on his brother’s back. “I’m sure you will make Uncle proud.”

Thorin prevents himself from saying that he is already proud of both of them.

But that night, the dreams continue _(or was he finally waking up?_ ). Reality blurs for Thorin.

Bilbo is happily by his side as his consort, and Durin’s line is secured through his sister-sons. Bilbo and his nephews are dead, buried under the mountain they fought for.

One day, Dis arrives in the mountain, and hugs both her sons and her brother. There are tears in her eyes as she tells Thorin she never doubted the success of his quest. She is courted by Dain and eventually marries him. Thorin bemoans the fact that he has the stubborn dwarf as a brother-in-law. Bilbo merely laughs and offers his congratulations.

Dis storms into the mountain, and slaps Thorin so hard his head cracks to the side. She sobs, fists pounding in his chest and spatting out how worthless his promises are. She visits the graves of her sons, and places lilies upon the hobbit’s tombstone. She leaves the week after without a word. Years after, Thorin hears from a messenger that she has been robbed and murdered on her journey to Gondor.

Every night, the original Company of Thorin Oakenshield dines together. Laughter fills the rooms and food is thrown everywhere. Bilbo complains about the food wasted, and the dwarves are subdued for a while before starting up a food fight again. The hobbit throw his hands up in the air. Thorin laughs, rubbing his husband’s back and telling him no food is truly wasted because if he’ll notice, Bombur is eating them all. They laugh together at that.

One by one, the member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield lost contact with one another. The Ur cousins goes back to Ered Luin with only a chest full of gold. The ‘Ri brothers scatter somewhere in Erebor; Thorin cares not where. Oin decides to travel around Middle Earth to learn more of healing techniques. Gloin stays with his family in a small little corner of the mountain. Balin journeys to Moria. Dwalin barely says a word to Thorin but remains a guard by his side. The King Under the Mountain tries and fails to ignore the pitying and accusing looks he receives from each of them as they say goodbye.

Whenever he sleeps in one world, he wakes up in the other.

So Thorin stays awake as many hours as possible in the blissful world, and sleeps as much as he can in the other. A different kind of madness is starting take over him. Bilbo and the Company worries ( _Bilbo is dead and the Company is gone_ ). Sometimes, all it takes to ground him is his husband’s hands running through his braids. Other times, not even Bilbo’s kisses and passionate touches makes him feel that the blissful world is real ( _because it’s not, is it? This is the dream . . . or is it?_ ).

Three years later, Thorin is finally released from his madness. He does not know the catalyst. He dreams no more of the other world.

He is glad for it; he has known all along he could not live in a lie.

❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are because I’m a lazy bum (and also because English ay hindi ang wikang kinagisnan ko ;)).
> 
> Welp, it’s out there now. I can’t really get it out of my mind so tah-dah!
> 
> I was really planning to just write the comic of catofcream but then I jokingly said to myself, “Bilbo is alive and comforts him . . . then he wakes up! Hahaha, that’ll be funny.” My brain refused to leave the idea alone so here’s additional 2000 words.
> 
> PS: If you don’t want the old “it’s your own interpretation” ending, there is really a dream and a reality in this story. There is a clue in there that differentiate the two. I know it’s kinda obvious but shhhh, let’s pretend you’re confused and I’m really subtle.
> 
> Constructive criticisms are welcome! Help me improve my writing, guys!
> 
> Have an awesome day!  
> ~ Vividpast


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